The Only Tangible Thing
by hayjes02
Summary: When you are hit by a car and the last thing you remember is her. Mainly written in second person narrative out of experimentation. Potential for additional chapters although I wish to put a warning for self harm/suicide/death on these. Please review, bit of a newbie. Thanks in advance :) I do not own PP in anyway, only the plot line to this story.
1. Chapter 1 - The Crash

You've spent the day out with your friends.

You remember laughing and being goofy. You remember their smiles and you remember the feeling of your own.

You all brought dinner from the small café on the corner and ate as a group.

You remember leaving them at the junction outside as the sun started to set as you turned right to your dorm and they scattered in various directions towards their own.

And then you remember the bright white lights and awful sound of screeching tyres as they grow larger and swallow you.

There's this sickening moment in which you can't quite breathe and that you can't quite comprehend.

And then suddenly gravity catches you plunging you quickly into darkness.

* * *

The first thing you feel isn't the pain, it's the cold. Then the hard ground beneath you.

Next to return is your hearing, but it's not normal. It reminds you of being in a large empty room, or on a train going through a tunnel. It's almost as if you're underwater and if you didn't know better you'd of thought you were drowning. But in the back of your mind you know you can't be as you can sense the pressure of the earth beneath you and although your lungs are burning you are still breathing or at least you think you are, although you're conscious that the motion is laboured and not quite even and in no way normal.

Your vision flickers in and out giving you enough time to realise its dark and late in the evening.

Your hearing then picks up. You are conscious of what you image is background noise although in your head it's too quiet, but its backed by a high-pitched drawn out note.

You try to and raise a hand sending a sharp pain shooting through your body before any movement has taken place, at this sensation you stop in your effort. Instead you try and turn your head and further assess your surroundings but your body won't let you.

You breathe again and smell the frozen tarmac beneath you, shutting your eyes and keeping them closed as you open your mouth and try to speak but no sound comes out. You become vaguely aware of the blood pooling under your head as it trickles down your face and into you now open mouth. At this thought bile rises from your stomach but instead of coming out it sits at the back of your throat slowly compromising your breathing further.

And then you feel nothing.

* * *

Your vision flickers again although there is an apparent lack of sound or colour. Just very bright flashing, and although you want to question this you don't quite have the capacity to.

Then you hear it all as the sound wall hits you for a second time. The ambulance and its crew whirring around, speaking a language you only vaguely recognise as English. The paramedics flitter in your vision, they try calling out to you, and they try saying your name, try slapping your face, trying to rouse a response out of you. It's not that you can't hear them or sense their presence its that you painfully can, but more painfully can't respond to it. You close your eyes again, swallowing the lump rising in the back of your throat.

The next thing you remember is the blood curdling scream followed by a loud altercation and scuffling, you recognise the voice that is so desperate as it cries out your name and your heart starts to pound and you're pretty sure in that moment you'll stop breathing. A pair of familiar feet rush into your peripheral vision and stop suddenly. A pair of hands cradle your face and the familiar scent of strawberry shampoo rushes over you as your senses all swell into a terrifying mass and the last tangible thing you remember before you slide once more into unconsciousness is the flash of red hair as she's dragged away from you screaming your name.


	2. Chapter 2 - Chloe's Perception

**Note - Hi Guys. Wow thanks for the support didn't really expect it so quickly, but to repay you I have written another chapter. For the rest of the story I shall write from different characters viewpoints. Sorry for any spam you may have got from me trying to upload this. And for those asking as to characters mortality you will have to wait to see what my mind decides as I have two ways this story may go.**

 **Many thanks.**

 **This is Chloe's perception.**

* * *

You had spent the weekend at your Grandparents house. You thus miss the fortnightly non-rehearsal meeting of the Bellas. By the time you arrive back at your dorm in the late afternoon you collapse onto your bed noting the distinct lack of your only roommate Aubrey.

You are woken again by a vague noise on your desk and stand up to collect your phone. In your groggy half-awake state you smile down at the phone when you notice you have several missed calls from Beca. You had smiled at the normally distant girls' sudden apparent clinginess. You grab a glass of water from the sink and start to head back towards your bed before you feel your phone vibrate in your hand. Noticing that it is again the small girl you answer ready to remark on her seemingly 'immediate need for you'.

* * *

And then it comes.

Instead of the voice you had expected to hear the voice that crackles through the line isn't that of Beca.

Nor that of anyone you recognise.

It is that of a tired and concerned middle aged woman. You bite your words immediately and listen.

Although in some ways you wished you hadn't.

In some ways you wished you were still asleep or at your Grandparents. But in the moment that it mattered you aren't; you're standing half dressed in your dorm when you hear that Beca has been hit. For the sweetest instant its all not true. You are only brought round when you hear the glass you had been holding smash against the floor and you run from the building not caring that you lack trousers or shoes.

* * *

The streets are cold and much darker than they had been when you had arrived home. You try to figure why it was you that had been called and not her father. You vaguely remember one drunken night Beca telling you she had entered you as her emergency contact in her phone as you knew more about her than him. Although even that memory is now distorted along with your other senses by the painful beating of your heart in your ribcage. You notice that little voice in the back of your head dismissing the whole event to dreamland and you further try to ignore the looming sense of doom now encroaching upon the whole situation.

 _Beca is only short._

 _Beca is only thin._

 _Beca is entirely breakable._

 _Beca is completely alone right now._

 _Beca may be…_

 _may be…_

You feel hot tears stream down your cheeks and instead you try to focus on the road ahead. Its blurry despite the crisp nature of the evening as your head swims with what has only been five minutes of possibilities.

In an flash the scene enters your vision although its far worse than you had imagined.

You notice the tape surrounding the scene and the police trying to control the mounting crowd. For a moment its like watching a grisly scene in a movie.

But only for a moment.

Your senses kick in. The voices of the paramedics, the flashing of the ambulance lights, and then the sight of a small and battered body on the ground.

You try not to take in her body. The way in which it is sprawled, one shoe missing. Her jeans and shirt ripped and her hair slowly matting. You try not to notice strange angle of her spine. Or how her arms are splayed. How her face is pressed against the floor, on one side, facing away from you. And you especially try not to notice the pool of deep red blood beneath her, coagulating at the edges.

But of course you do.

And you freeze.

You see all this and a terrified scream leaves your mouth before you have even noticed that it has formed.

You try and rush the cordon.

This only results in the police holding you back. You shout at them. You desperately cry out her name. At one point you even try to slap one of them. And then somehow you're through the barrier.

You turn towards her. By this point her head has been braced, her body laid on her back and you note the requirement for intubation.

You run at her again.

You stop only when you have finally reach her.

You bend down and reach out, touching her face and for a bittersweet second you swear you see her eyes flicker in recognition.

You almost let yourself breathe again.

You almost think its going to be okay, that maybe she'll survive this.

 _Almost._

And then just as quickly as that flicker came it is gone.

You see her chest rise but you don't see it fall.

You see as her body buck upwards at the middle and then sharply down again.

You watch as her body repeats the motion several times over before you are dragged away again screaming, reaching out for her, desperate to stay by her side.

You don't quite hear it however, instead your hearing is washed out and not quite in time with the reality of the situation. You feel your head spin again. You look at her one last time and watch as her eyes glaze further, blood seeping out of her mouth bubbling around the intubation pipe as she is whisked away in the ambulance.

You let that sense of doom wash over you and a wave of emotion hits you. All hope you had felt in that bittersweet moment has left along with the small girl. You try and catch your breath as your chest constricts and you feel as if your heart misses a beat. You don't notice however when unconsciousness seizes you.


	3. Chapter 3 - Chloe's Perception

**Hello Gentlefolk. Hope you've had a good day, here's chapter 3.  
** **Again this is written from Chloe's perspective.**

 **Please if you have the capacity review, they really help.**

 **Thank you.**

* * *

You wake again moments after hitting the road. You aren't however granted the mercy of ignorance at the situation you currently find yourself in the midst of.

You scrabble to your feet.

You ignore the worried looks around you and dismiss the calls for medical attention due to the grazes and cuts you have sustained in the fall.

You fumble in your hoodie for your phone cursing the numbness that has crept over your hands.

Aware of the crowd of people now clustered around you, you desperately you try to maintain some dignity as you call a taxi.

You almost choke on the lump that has quickly risen in your throat when you state the destination.

You choke it down as you hang up, your fingers drumming against your lip.

It quickly resurfaces however when you avert your gaze to where the small girl had laid upon your arrival.

 _To where Beca had fallen._

 _To where she had bled out._

 _To where she had…_

Well you're not entirely sure.

If someone asked you, you would have sworn you saw her face twitch at the sight of you. You would have sworn she was alive and conscious of your presence.

You stare at the space left behind and you feel her absence blaze in your chest.

Tears stream down your face again.

Cold, anxious and urgent.

You feel your legs move your body to the site.

You stand for a moment in the same position you had minutes before. You feel the pool of her blood on the tips of your toes. Before you know it your head is looking down. You whimper slightly at the sight.

Just as you move away you notice the shattered remnants of Beca's ear taper. You glare at it. You know full well you shouldn't you but you quickly stash the item in your pocket. You fear it may be the last part of Beca you are granted.

And then you just stand.

And wait.

And cry.

In silence.

All the while running your hand over the remnants in your pocket as in those moments that's all you are capable of.

* * *

You don't notice the crowd around you disperse and its only when a kindly policeman takes you by the shoulder that you leave the scene.

Standing just beyond the cordon you see a taxi pull up on the left and climb in. The look you get off the taxi driver vaguely disgusts you. You think given the stated destination he would have afforded you more respect.

You are however mistaken.

The entire twenty minute ride is taken up with dirty and misogynistic comments. You're almost glad when you exit the car deliberately throwing the fare at him. But you know full well you aren't.

Your feet are pounding as soon as they hit the ground.

Your legs are then running.

And then you're through the door.

* * *

You skid to the desk to be greeted by a surprised looking elderly lady. You blurt out Beca's full name. You stare at her as she looks at the computer, but even this is slow. _Too slow._ You feel anger rise from the pit of your stomach. She looks vaguely bemused when she pulls up the correct file. She asks your relation to the girl. You blurt out that's she your girlfriend. You clasp your hand over your mouth. Of course you are lying, no matter how much you wish this was true it is not. But its enough for the woman at the desk to raise an incredulous eyebrow as she simply states that you should wait over in the opposite corridor along with her father and boyfriend.

You look in the direction that she is pointing and spy the familiar outline of Jesse.

You swear under your breath. Why is Jesse here. Given he is her actual partner but you feel a stab of jealousy flare in your chest as you realise he made it here quicker than you and he will almost certainly see Beca before you.

Sheepishly you make your way over to the bench and take a seat at a safe enough distance for him not to notice your presence. You feel the cold hard metal kiss your skin but ignore it. You stare this time at the clock and watch it count out minutes that you wish didn't exist.

* * *

Several hours pass and you still you feel nothing. You feel like you should, but you don't.

You watch as doctor comes out of the room opposite and its only at this point you realise you've been sat outside the emergency theatre. Your stomach churns as you catch the solemn look on her face. You watch her approach Dr Mitchell. You catch a series of words as she speaks.

Facial lacerations.

Broken fibula.

Fractured ribcage.

Shattered pelvis.

Punctured lung.

Ruptured spleen.

Hypovolemic shock.

Potential for brain damage.

All of this aside the seizure she had had on the road.

You don't even think your own brain comprehends this new information until she says that Beca flat-lined on the table.

 _She flat-lined._

You can't quite breathe at this.

Your breath catches and hitches.

You hear as the doctor continues her sentence.

She's still breathing.

 _But only just._

Only with mechanical means.

Several of the functions of her heart have also been replaced by machinery.

The only reason that they've kept her alive is that they have detected some brain activity.

You physically feel the air leave your lips and only then you realise you've been holding on to it since the doctor emerged.

You force yourself to sit and watch as the two men are lead away to an adjoining room.

And you sit and wait again. The feeling of numbness recaptures you.

You are raised from this state however when you hear your name.

Standing opposite you is Dr Mitchell.

You see the tears stream down his face. You see him quickly making a beeline for the exit brushing past you.

You cry out his name, but he does not stop.

The only words you catch are that hes leaving and won't be returning.

At that you almost feel the emotion for Beca. You feel the betrayal and hurt and you let him walk. You don't say anything more.

What you don't expect is that when you turn around again you will come face to face with Jesse. He looks at you stone dead. You swallow hard and wait for him to speak. And then he simply says that _he can't_ do this. He simply says that this _can't be his_ relationship.

And you watch as the second man in Beca's life walks out on her.

You don't quite know what to do now.

You turn back around and stare at the door to Beca's room and then you do the only logical thing. Step towards it. You take the door handle in your hand. You grant yourself one final breath before you enter. You press down on the cold hard metal and step over the threshold.


	4. Chapter 4 - Beca's Perception

**Hi guys. Firstly I'm sorry I didn't upload yesterday but there was the problem with the site and then I was chasing around a four year old all day which is exhausting.**

 **Anyway have fun. :)**

* * *

The first sensation you feel is the air being forced through your lungs with an uncomfortable unfamiliarity.

The next is the sensation of blood being pushed through your veins. Although you can't feel your heartbeat, or at least not in the way you used to.

The rest of your body is vaguely numbed and your brain swims not truly focusing on anything and you're not quite sure in which version of reality you currently exist.

* * *

You're not certain how long it's been before you hear two voices.

The first noises you latch onto are those of your father. To say that your father was speaking may have been an over statement. In fact the only sounds you hear come from the man are your name and muffled cries which quickly turn into full blown sobs.

After a while you hear the door slam and you are left alone in the room with Jesse. You notice that he's rambling, and even you can see that he's not making much sense, but unlike your father he doesn't cry. Just before he leaves you hear him say hes sorry, say he cant do this, say its over. You don't blame him however, you understand; because you arent sure if the tables were turned you wouldn't do the same thing.

* * *

Moments later you swear you hear the door click again.

You hear nothing else although you are vaguely conscious of another person's presence in the room.

At one stage you hear your name, but it's small, weak, quiet, and laced with fear.

You feel another hand grab your own. It feels like all the bones in your hand are being crushed and although you try you can't cry out in pain.

Later still you hear her voice. This time there's no fear just clear one simple clear instruction.

' _Just hold on Beca_ '.

In your head it sounds so simple, _so easy_. But the voice triggers something in you despite the encroaching fog descending on your brain.

You realise the _person_ behind the voice.

You remember the flash of _red hair_.

You remember the sound of _your head_ smacking against the road.

And you remember the _fear_ in her eyes.

What had been an incessant background beeping suddenly increases. The only logical thought you have is to get to her, your head pounds with your need to comfort her. _She's Chloe_. She stayed. She's still here and right now you need to get to her.

But it's like trying to run through treacle or like trying to push water uphill.

Exhausting and impossible.

The haze in your brain increases alongside the pounding and you get lost again in the certainty of unconsciousness only vaguely aware that the incessant bleeping has slowed down.

* * *

You settle into a routine after this of cycling sub-consciousness. Your mind spiralling, Waxing and waning. Throughout most of it Chloe is there and if not someone else is. Most of the Bellas have put in at least one appearance.

Her attempts at rousing you in this time involve a lot of hand holding, head mopping and fretting when various machines that you don't understand beep. And again when they don't.

One day however she takes a different approach.

One minute she's pacing up and down next to your bed and the next thing you can feel is a sharp pain in your left arm. Wet and circular.

She bit you.

 _Chloe Beale just bit you._

If you had been conscious you would have withdrawn your arm immediately and probably of slapped the girl. But of course you can't and after several seconds it stops and you hear muffled cries as she breaks down again next to you. You focus as much energy as possible on moving your hand closest to her. You're not sure if you manage it. But after a while she stops sniffling and just grabs your hand again.

* * *

After this she takes another tactic. It starts with her playing some of your favourite songs. At one point she even plays Titanium. You feel what would have been a smirk creep across your face. Of course she playing that song; and you really hope the image that darts through your mind isn't what you'd see if you'd have the ability to open your eyes in those four minutes.

This tactic quickly escalates however into mashing together random songs. Frank Turner is played against Slipknot and Mumford and Sons; Avicii, Aqua and Rammstein; The Proclaimers, Swedish House Mafia, Coldplay and Abba; Taylor Swift, Euro-pop and Nickleback. It all swells into one terrible mess and at one point you resolve to strangle Chloe, but then you think that maybe that's the point and if it were possible a lump rises into the back of your throat.

* * *

And then one day after Chloe has left your side, you sense another presence in the room. You sense a certain familiarity, but also a sense of cautiousness and distance. The person doesn't stay long. They pace up and down which vaguely unnerves you. And then you hear them speak with a certain surety. 'I'm sorry Beca, it's all my fault. But I'm going to make it alright. I promise. I promise Beca.'


	5. Chapter 5 - The Aftermath

**Hi, new chapter guys.**

 **I know some of you are going to hate me a bit after this but it's the story had in mind when I wrote the first chapter so...**

 **Also I'm not telling you beforehand who's POV this is as it'll ruin it, so I guess that means you'll have to read it :P**

 **Anyway thanks for all the reviews and bits, please feel free to review after this as always it's much appreciated.**

* * *

You look up.

It's dark but in the dim glow of the street light overhead you can still see the impact on the windscreen. The spider-ing cracks each covered in a thin layer of coagulated red liquid which casts a certain glow on the interior of the vehicle. And it's sickening, but you're still locked there. Still frozen. The bile doesn't even rise in your throat. You're not even sure it can anymore.

You know you never _meant_ to do it.

Of course you didn't.

It was just a bad mistake.

A horrible mistake.

But the fact still remained _you did_.

And what makes it far worse is that _you ran_.

You've been there for hours. In the car for hours. Parked up on the side of the road just outside town.

And if the fact that you'd hit her wasn't enough its killing you that you didn't stop.

And it's killing you that you ran.

And it's killing you that you're still there.

* * *

You then feel your legs propelling you through the night. You're outside the car. And you're running. Fast. You skid around the corner. It's well past midnight. And before you can doubt your movements you're there. Apart from its now empty. There's nothing there. You recognise the café on the corner. You scan the scene trying to not let it haunt you.

Trying to not hear the sound of skidding tyres, her body smashing against the car and then again against the road. The sight of her small frame flying upwards and the sight of it crashing down. You shudder. But there's nothing left, nothing to notify the morning commuters of the events that passed earlier. Not really. Only a few bits of shattered glass from your car, a trail of skid marks and a terrible red stain on the road.

You try not to think about what that red stain means. But you can't help it. And again you're running. This time running from it. Running from there. Running to anywhere that takes it away.

* * *

You end up at the train station and you catch the first train that comes not noticing the destination.

When you step off you don't notice where your feet carry you and you don't particularly care to.

You end up in a shady bar that sells shady alcohols with shady men sitting in the corners. You don't even care that it's so far below your normal standards. You don't care that there's a high chance that the alcohol you're drinking is most likely at least some part methanol. You don't care if it blinds you. You may have done far worse to her. You almost certainly did worse to her. And the idea sickens you. You don't care that your body ends up slumped against a wall for the rest of the night and in the morning and following days you don't care that you still reek of alcohol as the bar becomes your new home.

* * *

It takes you almost a month to realise that this outlook isn't productive. It's not that you ever thought it would be, but you didn't care for the duration of your actions.

You're not quite sure what roused you from this state but you clearly remember being outside, and a flash of red hair catches your eye. Its owner is chasing a small equally red haired toddler who giggled every time the woman approaches her and it reminds you left behind. It only really hits you when you see a short brunette approach the pair, creeping up on the child and grabbing them from behind realising spurts of laughter from the youngster.

And in that moment you resolve to head back.

Within the hour you're at the train station.

Another hour later and your back in town.

From the station you head straight to the hospital in the knowledge that it's the place you can get the most answers and in the process run into the least people. You only stop off at the large store in the centre of town to buy a change of clothes having realised the full extent of your odour on the train.

And then it comes into view, the tower that marks the site of the hospital. Lights blinking out into the nights' sky, illuminating its surrounds brightly.

You almost feel your feet freeze.

But you don't let them.

You walk in.

You head to the reception desk, behind which an elderly lady sits.

She casts you a disapproving glance.

And then you say it, her name, only vaguely remembering her middle name.

Long awaited tears almost catch in your throat but you don't let them, instead staring out with steely determination.

She nods.

She looks through the files on the computer and then sends you in the right direction.

At least at this point you know she's alive, or at least in some capacity.

You see a familiar flash of red hair leave a room ahead on you on the right. You stay hidden in the shadows and let her pass, her head downcast and muttering. She passes you in ignorance of your presence and for that you're grateful.

You hate to think of what she thinks of you now.

You hate to think that she might know and worse what she's going to do when she does.

You slip into the room from which the red head left, the room to which the receptionist had direct you to.

You don't really take in the sight of the small frame on the bed. The wires, the tubes or the continuous bleeping. You know you only have one small shot at this, only one small chance, but that doesn't stop you pacing for a minute or two. Eventually you work up enough courage to speak out. It starts off small, but you quickly regain your usual demeanour in which you promise her things that you're not entirely sure you can keep, but you know at least selfishly it may make things better.

You stand up and as quickly as you entered you leave.

You head straight out of the building only vaguely registering someone shouting your name at some point, but again you don't care. There's only one way in which you are going to make this better, one way to keep your previous promises and only one place to which you need to go.

Once you reach your destination you don't hesitate. You don't give doubt that chance to creep into your mind. You head straight up the steps and stand in front of the desk.

Frozen.

It's the only in the last month in which you can feel your heart beating out its own rhythm in your chest causing your head to swim viciously.

The small dark haired man behind the desk asks your name, and then asks again. After a few moments he exits the office, takes your shoulder in his hand and speaks again, softer this time,

'Miss, what's your name miss.'

You hear him pause, squeezing your shoulder once more he tries again.

'We can't help miss, not unless you tell us your name.'

You stare into his eyes and whisper your response

' _Aubrey. Aubrey Posen_ '.


	6. Chapter 6 - Chloe's Perception

**Hi guys, sorry for the wait if you have been waiting for this but life got in the way as per usual. Anyway given the fact that you haven't formed a lynch mob I can only assume that you guys took the last chapter well, which is good, cos its only going to get worse before it gets better ;) .**

* * *

You step into the room.

 _That room_.

And you can physically feel your heart sink.

Your vision blurs at the edges and you have to mentally remind yourself to breathe. It's like a crushing feeling in your chest and you're not sure it will ever pass.

But eventually like everything else the sensation passes.

And then you're just left standing there.

The girl that lies in the bed doesn't look like your Beca. Logically you know it's her, her face is warped and the bruises that were absent at the scene are starting to form and she's far paler than even you recognise.

But what strikes you most is the complete lack of makeup. No eyeliner, mascara or nail polish; all the signatures of her are removed and somehow she looks so small, so innocent and right now as broken as she is.

The amount of machines that are currently passing through Beca scares you. The amount of tubes and wires exiting her even more so. The constant noise emanating from the machines almost deafens you and is a sound you're sure you'll never quite manage to forget. But in a way you're grateful. At least this way you know she's alive. She may not be okay, but right now she's alive and that's all that matters.

* * *

You see her blood pressure start to drop and in an instant let the fear that has routed you to the spot surge your body forward and you feel yourself your hand clasp around her own.

 _Tightly_.

The physically of her existence reassures you and for a few moments you just sit there clasping her hand.

And then you give her one simple task.

One simple request.

To just hold on.

And it's not that it's all you can think of in that minute, although it is, it's because that's all you need from her right now. You just need her to hold on until you can figure out how to make it better.

It takes a minute or two, but you feel the muscles in her hand twitch. Her whole body then goes through a wave of tension and for a sickening minute you fear you'll have to watch her go through another seizure. The machines around her increase in tempo and the bile rises in your throat. But thankfully that's all it is a wave and she heavily flops back against the bed.

You mentally curse the small DJ. You knew she was stubborn and prone to outbursts, but never like this.

* * *

It takes you a few weeks to settle into a vague semblance of a routine. Throughout this time Beca's health is never quite certain. She takes several dives, several seizures and at least one internal bleed throughout which you are grateful she isn't conscious to feel the pain. But after several days of stability she is given back her heart function which in itself takes several attempts, after this all that remains is her ventilator and heart rate monitor.

A long fortnight later the girl has become stable enough for her ventilator to be removed. You wish as soon as the procedure starts you hadn't chosen to watch. It's not just the sounds but the way in which her whole upper body moves with the force that sickens you. And then theres the agonising moment of nothing. No movement; and as much as you will her to breathe you know you can't force her. You watch and thank the universe for her stubbornness as you watch her chest finally rise.

* * *

The room after this seems almost too quiet and you're grateful that the current Bellas make several appearances throughout this time. All except _one critical_ exception. Her absence almost hurts but in those days you care not where she is or why she's there rather that she's not here with you, where she's needed.

But it's the need to rouse the DJ that finally forces you to take action, as however much you'd sit there for eternity if it meant keeping her safe, sitting there watching her still form is boring and the room is cold white and empty.

You try to think of a logical way of getting some sort of response out of the small girl. But in that moment all logic escapes you. In that moment you don't even notice it but you're conscious of the thought of pain being a good stimulus and then all you know it that you have her arm in your mouth and when you sense no response you drop her arm and let yet another wave of tears overwhelm you which means you miss her right hand twitching against your own, mistaking the movement simply for you own.

However the idea of a stimulus remains with you for the days that follow. And then it occurs to you, the most obvious of stimuli for the girl. Music. You curse yourself because it should have been more obvious. You start with some of her favourites and those that you feel have significance for the girl. You even include titanium and although you notice this causes her blood pressure and heart rate to spike that is the only response who get. And however much you love music, which you do, the lack of response after a while gets to you and thus you let what you're doing descend into utter chaos. Taking Beca's mixing equipment you mash together everything on her files, letting it reach uncomfortable pitches and purposefully creating bad mixes but even this doesn't work. And that fact leaves you destroyed and throughout the following days it takes all your strength not to walk out.

* * *

Its late one evening when you make an emergency trip to the coffee machine that you fail to notice a familiar face and it's only on the return journey you catch a glimpse of her disappearing rapidly around a corner. You try and call out her name. You try and follow her but by the time you reach the place from which she disappeared she's vanished. In that moment you feel a flash of hatred pass through you because despite every time you've been together right now she's not and right now she's running and it's not necessarily that she's running from the situation, that you could understand, that you have understood but in that moment she's running from you and you don't quite understand that.

When you return to the small hospital room you break down again and speak directly once more to the form laying in the bed. Watching her small chest rise and fall that you say it as simply as you can. Even more simply than before, because you're not sure that even that was simple enough.

'Beca.'

'Beca please.'

'You have to do this.'

'You have to wake up.'

'I'm not sure I can do this without you anymore.'

'If you go down Beca, I swear Beca I'll go down with you.'

'I promise that.'

* * *

So when a week later the small DJ's hand starts to twitch, her heart rate climb and breathing rate increases matching your own that you are thrown when she opens her eyes and your heart is again filled with fear. It's not an emotion that you instantly recognise but the negatively of it pushes you to flee the hospital only catching your breath when you reach the university grounds.

* * *

 **Quick side note - from a medical perspective just because someone in a coma has opened their eyes doesn't mean they're entirely concious. Just keep this in mind until I next update. Please review. I need to know if you guys are actually digging this.**


	7. Chapter 7 - Aubrey's Final Stand

**Hi guys. So this chapter may be a bit darker in the end than the others so just watch for that. And its not that I hate Aubrey or anything. But this just needs to happen for the story so please don't hate me. And please please please give me feedback. I know I sound needy, but I am as this is my first ff. Although I must say a massive thanks to those that have, and those of you who have supported this story. Although there's still plenty to come, so don't worry.**

* * *

The room was dark and cold despite the dingy white walls that your back had rested against.

It's not like you had expected any different and you were pretty sure it's all you had deserved.

Because of what _you_ did.

And the problems _you_ had created.

Problems that were still very much a problem. And now far worse than before.

Because when you had visited at least Chloe had been there and at least the small DJ had been improving. But even that had now ground to a halt, and what had surprised you most out of the news that trickled down to you was that Chloe had run.

It's not like you blame her.

 _You had._

But you thought that she was better than that. Better than _you_.

Less of a perfectionist. Less scared. Less afraid.

And more crucially less broken.

* * *

Your trial had been as eventful as you thought it would be.

The only daughter of an ex high profile military commander in court over what some of the tabloids had made out to be attempted murder. It was always going to be a big spectacle. Although of course that wasn't what it was, it wasn't planned; it was just a terrible accident.

You remember the look in your fathers' eye the first time you saw him after the incident.

You hadn't seen him in months beforehand.

The look in his eye had been an odd mixture of disgust, disappointment, embarrassment and shame.

He had said nothing to you, simply nodded towards you and introduced the lawyer he had hired and then walked straight out the door as simply as he had entered.

It wasn't that you had expected anything different from the man. It was just you had thought there might have been a chance. You had once been his baby girl and despite everything he had done and all the absences from those important moments in your life you still idolised the man.

Despite the high profile nature of the day you hadn't taken in much of it however.

Nevertheless you do remember the blurry image of Chloe in the public gallery. That had hurt and you had thought it couldn't have got worse.

But of course it did.

It was okay until they went through the injuries sustained in the crash. That had hit deeper than you probably should have let it and left you in a crumpled mess. Because despite what the press would have the public believe you actually cared for the smaller girl. She was driven and determined. Two characteristics that you craved were your own.

But now it was quite clear that even if they had been yours beforehand they wouldn't be from now on. You had been sentenced to at least five years. And just like that, just as easy as the judge saying a few simple words the whole future you had envisioned for yourself was gone.

Your father had simply walked out.

You had vaguely heard Chloe cry out something. Although you're not sure what exactly. Her voice wasn't angry like you'd expected instead full of shock and anguish.

* * *

It was in those moments that your mind had been made up.

Because _you_ had made a terrible mistake.

And _your_ future was defined by that.

Because it was _your_ fault.

 _Your_ fault that Beca was broken.

And lying there in that bed.

 _Your_ fault that Chloe was broken.

And lying day to day in her own.

 _Your_ fault that the Bellas were falling apart.

Because as much as they tried they couldn't help the situation.

 _Your_ fault that your fathers career had fallen apart at the announcement of the trial.

And _you_ were now the most shameful part of his life.

And there was no way in which you could fix that.

No matter how much you wanted to.

And there was no way in which you would survive this.

Because despite the fact it was your choice to return, and your need to make it better you're not quite sure you can anymore.

Because like you, your whole world was now broken.

And it is your fault.

 _Always your fault._

* * *

So you had stood up, letting the harsh surface of the wall collide roughly with your back. Not overly caring if it grazed your back or drew blood. Your perfect image was broken anyway.

And you checked for one final time what was important was placed in a closed envelope in an evident position.

And your last thought as you stepped off the end of the now stripped bed frame was your father was correct.

Because you no longer cared that you had lost.

Because you were getting the hell out of Kuwait.


End file.
